


wear your heart on your skin

by ace_corvid



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Artist Damian Wayne, Can you tell I would die for Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Gen, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Introspection, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Jason Todd Feels, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is a lot of things apparently, Jason-centric, Love Duke Thomas or die by my sword, Past Character Death, Reconciliation, SO, Suicidal Thoughts, Tattooed Jason Todd, Tattoos, This entire family has the emotional maturity of a set of spoons, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Trans Tim Drake, batfam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_corvid/pseuds/ace_corvid
Summary: Jason, despite popular belief, was not stuck in his rebellious phase. For one, Bruce was not his dad, no matter what he or any other fucker had to say about it. And also, he was hardly a child.But fuck if he didn't get a kick from doing things he knew Bruce would hate.Maybe that's where the idea stemmed from before it spiralled out of control.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon & Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Duke Thomas & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 70
Kudos: 901





	1. principium

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is my first piece for the Batfam, which seems like a crime; i guess i never really got around to it before now! anyway, please be gentle lmao  
> also if anyone who reads tgl is reading this, i'd say i'll update soon but uh. dont hold ur breath. i got more projects and another big bang coming up, so uh. whoops?  
> i don't rlly like this piece but it's been basically finished since November and i just wanna get it out at this point but i digress  
> anyway, enjoy!
> 
> WARNINGS: Suicidal thoughts are discussed and a canon event is interpreted as an attempt!! be safe in your reading!!

1.

Jason, despite popular belief, was _not_ stuck in his rebellious phase. For one, Bruce was not his dad, no matter what he or any other fucker had to say about it. And also, he was _hardly_ a child.

But _fuck_ if he didn't get a kick from doing things he knew Bruce would hate.

Maybe that's where the idea stemmed from before it spiralled out of control.

Jason technically understood why tattoos were a no-no. They were huge trouble for secret identities, like irredeemable trouble. Not even slightly worth it, especially considering the amount of scar tissue they'd have to work around, and how often they'd be scarred over. And with the expense, they were pretty much a pipe dream for a young boy in Crime Ally, so it wasn't like he'd always wanted one. Well he had, but he'd never expected to get one.

The thing is though, he is legally dead. 15 year old Jason Todd had not had tattoos. No one knows who the fuck he is, and with all the body armour, what are the chances enough people see them for it to be an issue? _Oh yeah, that one dude who should technically be six feet under has a bat on his ass?_ Un-fucking-likely.

Doesn't help he has Roy Harper, cheerleader extraordinaire, not to mention owner of a tattoo gun and a loose grasp on the theory, plus plenty of his own ink. He'd do it for him no problem, and he could follow a line just about well enough.

It's not like he's worried about the pain.

So he gets a coffin, on his thigh, because that's probably where he has the least amount of scars, and also because it's fucking funny. Kori doesn't laugh so much as she fails to look disapproving while suppressing giggles, but Roy loses it, which doesn't really bode well. He's a little disappointed chances are Bruce won't see it and he won't get to rub it in his face, but hey, it's one less argument.

That is, until a piece of rebar monumentally fucks up his lower leg, and a slightly panicked Dick drags him back to the Batcave while Jason is too delirious to stop him.

He wakes up bandaged, and his pants cut through on the floor, which sucks. He'd actually liked those ones. That'll teach him for getting attached.

“What is this?” Bruce growls.

“Sharpie.” Jason shrugs. Alfred raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Bruce twitches.

“Tattoos are a bad-”

“I'm not your god damn child soldier any more old man.” Jason grits out, trying to move his leg, but the sheer force of Alfred's stare pins him to the bed. He rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms, and huh, maybe he _is_ a moody teenager after all. He chooses to take it out on Bruce. “You can't tell me what I can and can't do.”

Bruce does not answer, so much as he tries to convey his emotions with a grunt. Too bad his grunts are all-purpose, and the bastard did not spend _this_ long being emotionally stunted to start being able to express himself now. Jason tried to stop the inevitable action of his eyes rolling back into his head, but he's just not strong enough.

Bruce dramatically swings his cape as he leaves. Like an asshole.

This is so obviously far from over, but Jason will take the reprieve where he can get it.

“A coffin, Master Jason?” Alfred asks, and he doesn't say the _Really?_ but it is heavily implied, because Alfred could fit a speech into a sentence if he wanted to.

“Well, I couldn't stay in mine. Better to keep one with me.” He hedges, because he didn't really have _his_ coffin in mind when he got it. More an on the nose joke, in general, and still after all this time, it was hard to think about... it. Humour was easier.

Some things were better left to his nightmares.

2.

Roy had mentioned once, he only intended to get one, but it was like a bug. The tattoo artist had warned him and everything.

Jason was kinda feeling that now.

No hiding this time though. Somewhere that wouldn't be too risky to have as the Red Hood, but also so obvious Batman will drop from the ceiling, killing him instantly.

He decides on his shoulder, and figures he should have a theme.

He considers a crowbar, but he does have some common sense knocking around somewhere. Also, it just seems tacky, and Roy would fucking murder him, never mind Batman. _Jason_ wouldn't have a problem with it. Definitely not.

So instead, he goes with an angel, carved in stone, like the one he sees in his nightmares. The one that looms over his grave, the first thing he saw after crawling his way out of a child sized coffin. Roy manages to capture the image well on his skin, not just simple line art now, but shading too.

It's a reminder.

Bruce twitches when he sees it, but he can't even yell. It's so great. Jason wishes he had a fucking camera, good lord. Doesn't Replacement have one? Fuck, Jason should have 'borrowed it'.

Then Bruce opens his mouth, which is never a good sign, but he's saved by an unlikely ally in Barbara, who tells him to get a grip. If either of them recognize the likeness, neither say.

3.

He figures there's no point in stopping now, but he's getting a little sick of the death theme. Well, the theme of _his_ death, anyway.

So he gets a tattoo of a gun, which is still very much on brand. He gets it on his ribs where he has the least scar tissue, so it seems a little randomly placed, but he likes it well enough. It hurt a lot more than the others, prompting Roy to give him a knowing look and Kori to grin widely.

This time, he cuts out the middle man and just goes to show Bruce, like he's 14 again and brought a good grade home from school to hang on the fridge.

Dick is there this time, and he laughs so hard that Bruce actually stops glaring at Jason to instead glare at Dick. It's amazing.

Alfred even chuckles, and this has to be the best thing he's ever done.

He can't help but think though, that under it all, Bruce had looked a little heartbroken too.

Jason used to hate the idea of guns, but he couldn't afford to be afraid of them; not in Crime Alley. And then he moved in with Bruce, who lost his parents to gun violence, and was a vehemently no killing hero. Even as tensions had rose, with the (truly tragic) fall of Felipe Garzonasa, which genuinely had been an accident no matter what Bruce had believed, Jason had never really had guns on the brain.

It had been Talia who had trained him to use them with brutal efficiency and deadly precision. Jason wondered if she had done that on purpose. In all likelihood, it was probably no accident. Did it matter?

Jason had trusted Talia, everything she told him. Fresh out of the pit and full of rage, he must have been easy pickings. Hate and love were twins, it's said; How easily did she twist his love for someone he considered a father into a boiling rage?

He knew now, logically, he hadn't been replaced. He knew that Bruce had mourned.

The Joker wasn't dead.

He just couldn't stop being so angry. So he walks away conflicted, instead, because he's just never gotten better at moving on.

4.

He gets his mothers favourite flowers, the ones he still takes to her grave every fortnight.

They decorate his wrist, all black line art, no colour, but he knows she preferred them pink.

This time, Bruce just looks sad.

They were the flowers on his grave, too.

5.

The he gets a little penny on his ankle, because if there was anyone who deserves it, it's Alfred. It's still the least likely place he'll see, though. He has a reputation to keep, after all.

6.

“The distance is nothing when one has a motive.”

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice.

Lower back, a little to the left.

7.

“You know, a more appropriate quote from Pride and Prejudice may be 'Angry people are not always wise.'. Tim laughs on the roof, as they stake out the building across the street. They're in civvies and Dominoes, because it's just re-con and there's no chance of any action tonight, so comfort was prioritised. Jason huffs, but none of that old anger rises in his stomach.

Out of all of the 'Bat Family' (what a joke), Tim was the easiest to get along with, soul crushing guilt aside. He would always be the Replacement, that's for sure, but he wasn't Robin any more, and that's what Jason had always hated about him. He'd never even hated Tim, just what he was a symbol of; Batman's proclivity for child soldiers, not even lost after the death of his son. Sure Tim had pushed, but Bruce was one stubborn son of a bitch. Keeping even one child out of harms way could have been enough.

It helped that since Batman's little break in the time stream, Tim had also become pretty disillusioned. After that little trip around the globe of his, he certainly wasn't singing Dickie Bird's praises any more, and he spent less and less time at the manor as the weeks passed by. It had been a little worrying for a while there, but his team seemed to be keeping him afloat. Especially that Super Clone, who had seemed to have taken 'No metas in Gotham' as more of a suggestion than a rule, Batman be damned. Which, honestly? Jason could respect.

Also he was one funny son of a bitch when he wanted to be, with a tongue as sharp as any, quick witted and absolutely brutally scathing.

So Jason and Tim teamed up more often, Jason ignored the guilt that arose when he thought of Tim's broken child body lying on the floor, and tried to convince him to go to university, because Jason would have killed a man for that and he's this close to pushing him off the roof.

“Oh yeah?” Jason remarks. “And what tattoo would you get, Replacement?”

Tim goes suspiciously quiet, and very, very still.

“You didn't.” Jason doesn't ask, but the question is there, voice tinged with manic glee. Tim rolls his eyes a little, but makes no move to confirm or deny. The silence, however, says it all.

“Does Bruce know?”

“What do you think?” Tim snorts. “I had the better sense to hide it.”

“Where is it?” Jason asks, genuinely curious now. “When did you get it?”

“A couple weeks ago.” Tim replies easily, beginning to yank off his sweater to show Jason. “I'd been thinking about it for a while, but what can I say, you inspired me.”

Tim's tone is teasing, and Jason beats back “Yeah I bet those blow up arguments with Bruce really got you motivated.”

Tim replies, but it's lost in the sudden rush of blood in his ears when he sees exactly what tattoo Replacement got.

It's on his chest, a smidgen higher than his top surgery scars and so far to the side it's half hidden by his forearm, which probably hurt like a bitch, but it seems more strategic than to avoid scar tissue. But that's not the problem.

It's a semicolon. Small and black. Unassuming.

Jason had heard about this tattoo in particular. It's a sign that someone who had once wanted to end their life had instead chosen to carry on going. Which begs the question, why does Tim have it? Jason isn't sure he wants the answer.

Tim's smile is suddenly tighter, glazed in melancholy.

“You look surprised.”

“I am.” Jason answers honestly, which seems to jolt Tim. “You know, I can't say I recommend dying.”

“I'm not-” Tim says lamely, breaking himself off. “I'm not. But I was. It wasn't a problem at first, you know? Everyone I loved was dead at that point, and no one alive wanted me around. I wasn't Robin any more, so what use was I? Chasing a dream around the world? It was like this feeling that no one would miss me, but it wasn't an active thing. Until one day I was fighting some assassin, and I had this thought that I could just stop. Let them kill me. It'd be a nice and tidy end to Tim Drake, and everyone would be fine with it.”

Tim stops for a minute to take a drink of water, but Jason stays silent. Tim's not done, but Tim also coincidentally won't look him in the eye, so he just waits.

“Then I couldn't stop thinking about the roof of Gotham Arms. Tallest building in Gotham. No Kon around to swoop in and save me last minute any more, then at least. You know how it is, being Robin. You learn to love the falling before you fly, so I thought that might be easier that way. And it'd be easier identity-wise to explain away, and I'd just be another trans teen suicide statistic. Then I challenged Ra's Al Ghul to a fucking sword fight and-” Tim goes blank. “And Dick caught me. Don't tell him I didn't even think he would.”

“I won't.” Jason says solemnly, and Tim gives him an appraising look.

“I'm getting better now. In the beginning of trying to want to be alive again, it was the worst. I was just looking at some life ahead of me that didn't even feel like mine, having to do every single day, and it was so difficult to even get out of bed. But by this point Kon and Bart were alive again, and they weren't gonna let me go without a fight. And me and Cassie made up. Which kinda helped. So I'm just living, really. I'm still not 'healthy' and I should _probably_ see a therapist, but I want to get better, and I'm doing my best. It's hard, but I'm still here.” Tim finishes, and he looks a little shy. Kid probably needed to get that out.

“I'm glad.” Jason tells him honestly, looking at this slip of a kid who may have dragged Jason kicking and screaming into being his older brother.

“Nothing to say about me just throwing my life away?” Tim asks hesitantly, scrawny, bedraggled, and pale, God this kid needs some vitamins. Instead of answering, Jason draws him into a hug, with something that's not a sharp edge of pity, but instead understanding. They stay like that for the rest of the stake out, though Tim does drag his sweatshirt back on.

Tim falls asleep on him, and Jason takes him back to his apartment, rather than the manor, and then crashes on his couch while Tim has his bed. Tim is gone by the time Jason wakes up, but a couple days later his entire computer system has been updated, so Jason figures he just needs to get used to Tim knowing where he lives at this point.

The next time Jason sees Tim though, he has new ink in his skin, sketched in solidarity.

In the same place Tim has his declaration of life, Jason has a declaration of support in a loose meaning of the word, that he would never say out loud _ever_.

In the same place on Jason's chest, is a small line art of a film camera, that had once been lovingly carted around Gotham by a little boy too smart for his own good.

It feels right.

8.

Jason wishes to every God he could think of that he didn't have to deal with his annoyingly persistent 'big brother'.

“Come on Little Wing, it'll be fun!”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Jason stretches out, and he sees Dick's eyes follow his newest ink on the inside of his forearm. It's just a book open to a page with no text. Jason has been thinking about maybe going to college a lot recently. He wonders if Bruce still has his fund set aside. He thinks to that God awful memorial in the cave, and decides he probably does, but damn if Jason is going to ask him for a penny.

“I have literally no interest, and I cannot stress this enough, in going to Bludhaven University, never mind their fucking open day.” Jason snapped, but Dick is not deterred. Dick is never deterred.

“They have a really good English department, and-”

“What makes you think I'd major in English?”

Dick doesn't even dignify that one with an answer, which is fair.

“Just- I'm not saying you have to go to the university!” Dick says, exasperated. “Hell you don't even have to go with me! But you used to love this stuff and I just think-”

“Well there's your problem. You? Thinking? Does it hurt?”

“Ha _ha_. Please Jason?”

“Dick. I said no. Now are you gonna respect that or am I gonna have to break the truce to _kick_ your _ass_?” Jason finally growled. Dick goes quiet, and Jason almost says something that could be interpreted as an olive branch, but then a rueful grin spills onto his face and he goes to ruffle Jason's hair. Jason irritatedly lets him, because he's clearly lost control of his life.

“Ok Little Wing, sorry for pushing. Thanks for indulging me for so long.” He laughs.

“It's ok.” Jason forces out, terse but genuine. He can't believe he's about to say this. “Gotham community college's open day is in 2 weeks. You can come look at that one with me.”

Dick gasps and grins that blinding smile that _made_ the Robin mantle. Made Robin the light to Gotham's shadow. Jason barely suppresses an eye roll, and doesn't see the hug coming in time to throw him off.

Dick's laughter and Jason's angered shouts echo into the smog of Gotham. If anyone didn't know better, they'd say they sounded like brothers.

9.

The open day isn't bad.

They look around the English course, slightly interrogate the professors and attend a taster lecture in the shambling humanities building. There's a whole optional module dedicated to Jane Austen, to which Dick gives him a knowing look. It doesn't look that bad; in fact, it looks _enjoyable_. No matter what the League of Assassins, the Lazarus Pit, dying, Joker, _who_ -fucking- _ever_ did to him, no one managed to take away that little spark inside of him that still got excited when he got to sit down and read. Run his finger along weathered spines, leather bound classics, reciting Shakespeare with Alfred. This was his and his alone, and by the look on Dick's face, he knows it too. He is also unbearably smug about it.

It doesn't stop the knowing looks at how he walks like a Crime Alley kid, and how he talks like the drug-runners used to when he was younger (and also when he was coincidentally threatening to beat them up in multicoloured spandex, but they didn't need to know that). Dick sends them quelling look, though he never quite got around to speaking with a Gotham accent either, a melodic lilt to his words that carries the tell of his first language and a childhood of travel, so he gets weird looks too. They walk together and let them slide off like water.

They don't bother with the accommodation tours, but they still go to the information fair. They chatter idly as they wander around grabbing enough leaflets that they must be down to the last tree in Gotham. Dick doesn't quite manage to suppress his eye roll when Jason makes a show of perusing the finance table, grouching about student loans.

They laugh about it later in an Italian hole in the wall place nearby that Dick swears down do the best linguine in the city. He's not wrong, either. It's some pretty decent pasta.

Couple days later he has a tiny feather on his other ankle, and resolutely does not show Dick. Goldie fucking knows anyway, though. Jason doesn't think he minds, but he'll still shoot him if he brings it up.

10.

Jason is tired.

Tired of fighting, tired of being angry. Tired of being tired.

It's a bone deep exhaustion that sinks into his bones as he collapses onto the futon in his empty apartment. It's not silent, as the upstairs neighbours seem to be practising tap dancing, and the couple next door are either having a very loud lovers spat, or are watching soap operas with a broken volume button. Either way, it's heated and bound to end in tragedy.

He lies there for a while, knowing he'd get more rest awake than he would asleep, once the fitful nightmares pounced. He idly traces along the inked lines of his first tattoo, the coffin. It was still new really, wouldn't begin to fade for years, especially since he'd avoided colour, but he still couldn't help but wonder what it would look like against aged skin. Would it be wrinkled, speckled with time? Would he live long enough to ever see it like that anyway?

It's strange how what had somehow started as a huge _fuck you_ had become a catharsis of a sort. It was an outlet of expressions on his body, a slow path to acceptance drawn out in ink. The callousness he treated his own death with at first, the coffin and the angel, but then moving away from that, to weapons that he'd never wanted to use before promises that they'd lighten the rage in his veins. Then to the flowers his mother had loved, to Alfred, who was blessedly back in his life, a strong and steady cable bringing him down to earth. Then the return to the things he'd loved before, like Jane Austen and reading, that not even death could shake.

Then there was Tim, who was no longer a replacement, but a kid who stepped up and paid a price for it. Who it was hard to still feel any anger for.

There was Dick, who was trying. The progress he'd made with the demon child really was amazing, had to hand it to him. At some point, Dick had grown up; he was learning from his mistakes, doing his best to be better. Was Jason?

There was still one thing he'd loved before that he was yet to return to, in flesh and blood or through the ink in his body. It'd be the final step.

Batman. Bruce. A father to him, once.

Maybe he could talk to him? Jason isn't stupid, logically he knows _now_ that the League was feeding him at least some bullshit, if nothing else than the overwhelming evidence or because Tim wasn't exactly the identical boy who Batman brought in on his own terms they'd proclaimed him to be. Nowhere in the fine print were they ever like 'oh yeah by the way, the kid's also pretty neglected with a lot of spare time on his hands, smart enough to figure out Batman's identity at nine and stubborn enough to push is way into not only the cave, but also Batman's cold, dead shrivelled heart'. And that was only one instance of this. So he figures they withheld information, clearly, and probably twisted it to fit their version of events with more ease than a Fox News reporter.

So Batman probably did care. Maybe. He wasn't counting on it. He was really only mentioning it because with any luck, he can at least get him to take down that _stupid_ shrine.

Would Batman want him back? Or would he continue to condemn the blood on his hands in favour of losing someone he considered a son once for good? Would he even care if he did? Jason didn't like feeling unsure, but he hated the looming feeling of dread more. The one that permeated the manor with each visit. It was really time to clear the air.

Maybe he'll call him in the morning.

(When Jason wakes up, he thinks _fuck that_ and instead gets a skull tattooed on his neck, because it looks cool as fuck, and subtlety is a lost art on him at this point.)

(He doesn't think about Bruce.)

0.

Jason appreciates his stupid 'brothers' skirting around the huge elephant in the room (what Dick has been affectionately calling the Zitka in the manor), but it's getting a little irritating.

However it was monumentally _less_ irritating than them abandoning him in the cave infirmary and then locking Bruce in with him. One of those damn boys is getting shot when this is over; and he swore he saw them colluding with Damian too. The one he thought he could rely on to leave him alone.

He wasn't even that hurt, but they'd shuttered him here anyway. So here he was, lay on the infirmary bed with Bruce brooding in the corner. The silence between them is an uncomfortable thing. It's tangibly awkward- a batarang couldn't make it through the air in here. Rolling his eyes, Jason turns onto his side, away from Bruce, intending to pretend to sleep. After a while, he feels like he might. He's still so tired

And then.

After a considerable amount of time had passed, he felt something on his shoulder- a hand, resting gently, light enough that even he may not feel it had he not been awake. Nothing else happened; just a comforting hand, familiar enough that he feels himself slipping into sleep out of habit.

“Dad?” He murmured, suddenly 15 again, falling asleep to the magic of Alfie's hot chocolate.

The hand jerks back.

It's then that Jason comes back to himself, and sincerely hopes a hole may open under the Batcave and swallow him up. He attempts to throw himself out of the bed to try and escape the situation, as if he can physically run away from his 'daddy issues', but it's not long before he feels the telltale pain of ripped stitches pull at his stomach. Nice one, Jason. He feels the rivulets of blood begin to slide slick down his stomach and soak through the cotton of his shirt, making it sticky and red.

Bruce cursed behind him, and gently wrestled him into a chair while Jason hisses in a mixture of irritation and pain. He tries to glare but it comes out sleep addled, and to be the fair, Jason can admit he got that glare from Bat anyway, so it probably wouldn't have done much to begin with.

“Jason,” Bruce began awkwardly, with the air of a man with an uncomforting assurance that he will shove his foot into his mouth. Jason decides to put him out of his misery.

“Drop it old man.” He spat out, as if venom could ever be enough.

“Jason.” He somehow manages to be both softer and firmer at the same time, the infuriating duality of the father and the knight, and it's enough to quiet Jason just a little. “You're always welcome here. Stay until you're healed.”

“You couldn't pay me to stay here.”

“I'm a millionaire actually. I probably could.” The small joke brings back a resurgence of memories easier to ignore, made fuzzy by the pit. It doesn't really work as the olive branch it's intended to be.

“Cut the shit old man.” He bites out, but he still isn't angry. His heart isn't in it and Bruce can tell. He can always tell. And yet he approaches these things with the grace of a soggy plate of scrambled eggs.

“Jason, please. You're my _son_.” Bruce says, stilted like the words cost him something. Like they hurt. Maybe they did.

Silence hangs in the air like sound is a foreign concept, and nothing more is said. Bruce still doesn't leave until Jason is asleep.

Jason escapes in the morning, stealing one of Alfie's flapjacks on the way out like it's his god given right. Jason doesn't leave a note exactly, but he let's the camera's see him on the way out, which is more than he'd usually allow.

Later, Jason ponders small rebellions on his skin. Thinks of taking back his life through drawings on his body. From the things that have changed him, that have marked him in more than one way, to the things that he loves (or begrudgingly tolerates) that he has given physical space on his self to. Things that are a part of his life, for better or worse.

He wonders if there are things from before he's ready to let back into his life, which is around the time he makes sure Roy isn't around and breaks out the alcohol.

His head won't shut up. It's gonna be a long week.

11.

(The next time he sees Bruce, a bat lies on his heart.)

(It doesn't mean anything.)


	2. finis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is spending a lot more time around the manor these days, and he's still yet to figure out whether this is a good or a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'hopefully for february' I said.  
> yeah, that worked out.  
> anyway, here it is! i hope u like it!
> 
> BIG BIG THANK YOU to plumstagram for helping me out with some of the tattoos in this fic! i rlly appreciate it!! <3<3<3

Jason is spending a lot more time around the manor these days, and he's still yet to figure out whether this is a good or a bad thing.

It's _good_ because Tim and Dick are happy to play mediator, and this new armistice with Bruce is terrifyingly familiar, fragile and horribly new all at once, but still nice. Even if Bruce _is_ essentially Bambi on ice when it comes to emotions.

But it's also _bad_ because what the fuck is he doing? Like what the fuck? He's back where he swore he'd never be again, and there's a voice still screaming in the back of his head that this is _wrong wrong wrong_.

If you told Jason a year ago he'd be content to even be in the same room as the Bat, let alone let Bruce ruffle his hair, he'd probably have shot you. Or have you committed to Arkham Asylum. Probably both.

And now here he is. Playing happy families. Like he's 15 again and thinks he has a shot at this.

It feels like wearing an old coat. Familiar, but a little too tight to be comfortable.

Absently, Jason wonders if that feeling would ever really go away.

He'd had the bat on his chest for nearly a month before he really began interacting with family members who weren't Tim and Dick. This was partially because Barbara was practically a recluse at the Clock Tower running an ongoing Birds of Prey mission, and also a little because Stephanie could hold a grudge like a motherfucker and had one mean glare. The rest was just that he didn't really come by the manor enough to really see the others.

Apart from Damian, whom he saw often enough. It was just that the brat normally just made a scathing comment, usually about blood, and then walked away, every single God damn time Jason saw the kid. Annoying, sure, but not really an issue. And according to Tim, this was the kid after he'd mellowed out. Two brothers was already two too many in Jason's humble opinion, so he didn't particularly care what the kid thought of him. Jason _had_ tried to kill him, after all, so he figured it was maybe possible that he deserved it. He's already gotten lucky once that Tim is shitty at holding grudges.

Naturally, it all came to a head when Damian left his sketchbook on the table. Jason had recognised it pretty much immediately; he remembered he'd asked to look in it once, and the Demon had spat back something along the lines of filthy street rats keeping their claws off of his property. Clearly he was protective of the damned thing.

Now, Jason could have absolutely left it alone, but considering he'd literally never done that in his life, he didn't really see the point in starting now. He kicked back his feet on table and began flicking through the simple, black, leather bound sketch pad.

Jason had to admit, the kid was pretty good. One could even say he was incredible, if they were charitable, which Jason was certainly not.

Dick and Bruce's likeness was captured in the ink splattered across the pages more times worth counting. He'd managed to capture the brightness that lingered in even Dick's smirk, the hard lines of Bruce's face melting into fondness; even more impressively, there was a sketch of Nightwing, with anticipatory grin that had to have been caught in just the split second it appeared before it warped into a snarl. Close by to it was many a sketch of the Batman, but the one that caught Jason's eye was where a small smile tugged at his lips, lighting up even the cowl into something gentler. Somehow more human-like in charcoal.

There were some pictures of Dick in the earlier pages, with rudimentary sketches of unfamiliar expressions, where Damian must have been getting used to the shape of his brothers face, in a cowl that couldn't fit. Dick hadn't suited the bat, and here was the evidence of pencil creases in his face that couldn't be found in Nightwing. Through Damian only just learning the intricacies of his jawline and Batman weighing heavy on Dick's soul, Jason almost doesn't recognise these versions of his brother on paper.

Of course, it wasn't just them. It seemed there was an animal come to life on each page, most even lovingly coloured. But there was also other familiar faces lurking in the pages, so it seemed. Stephanie held a fair few pages, portraits attempting to capture her impish grin and chaotic chortling. Some were hard lined grimaces and steady concentration, but most of the drawings saw Stephanie as what Jason gathered she was; wild, uncontrolled and completely untameable. Seeing the mischief in her face, it was probably a good thing she didn't like him. Tim would probably have an aneurysm if they got along.

Speaking of Tim, he was there too, surprisingly. He'd heard Tim complain about how much the brat didn't like him, about how unwelcome he felt in his own home some days. And yet on rare pages, Tim was trapped in time, still tired and weary, but smiling of all things. They weren't unflattering drawings in the slightest. Some were even coloured, and there were a couple of him with Dick where he looked younger. Damian had clearly used the family albums as a reference. Jason was even tempted to take a picture of one particular sketch that perfectly caught a half smile that Jason only really saw when Tim was truly comfortable and happy. It was becoming more and more common these days, like it had been before, but Jason wondered when Damian had managed to see it. Curious.

The strangest to see, of course, were the few of him.

They were only quick, fleeting sketches really. One of him as the Red Hood, cocking his head to the side while cocking his gun. Another without the helmet, all determination and anger, pointing his gun. But there was one that took up near enough a full page, a simple coloured portrait of him laughing. He couldn't recall when Damian would have seen him this at ease. He leafed through the thing again; Damian really did have talent-

“ _What are you doing?_ ”

Well, speak of the devil.

“You left it on the table.” Jason feigned disinterest, throwing it back down onto the surface. It was as small a gesture of surrender that Jason could muster.

“That does not give you permission to go through my things, common filth!”

“This is my house too, brat, I can do what I want.” Jason shrugged off the insults. Dick would more than likely not appreciate it if he offended the bat brat. Feigning disinterest, he leaned back in the kitchen chair while keeping eye contact. Damian scowled.

“No you can _not_ , Alley Scum! These are _my_ things, you _cannot_ touch them, even if you could possibly begin to appreciate high art, which you clearly can't.”

“Of course I have an appreciation of art demon; I don't know if you noticed but it's all over me.” Jason gestured down to his body and Damian managed to make wrinkling his nose look haughty.

“Those scribbles on your skin do not count, Todd.”

“ _Scribbles?_ ” Jason was a little offended for Roy. The man had gotten some skill with it with practice, maybe not like professional grade but Jason's tattoo's didn't look _bad._ “You think you can do better?”

“Naturally.” He sniffed.

“Well then, challenge fucking accepted. Wanna learn how to use a tattoo gun? Roy can probably teach you.” Jason blurted out before he could stop himself. Damian looked cautiously pensive, but still never unsure of himself. Jason understood; hesitation in the League of Shadows only ever got you killed.

Jason was probably going to regret this.

“Mother said I should only ever learn the arts from masters.” His eyes were sharp on Jason. It wasn't a no.

“Are you saying you can't do it?” Jason prodded with all the gentleness of a hot poker. Nevertheless, Damian stiffened into something more soldier-like, a gleam of challenge in his eyes.

“Of course not. Who shall I be tattooing, then?

Jason really was going to regret this.

“Me, I guess.”

A week later, Damian had left enough tattooed bananas of varying designs around the house to very clearly clue Bruce in that something was going on. It was a sign of how much the Bat on his heart and the more recent reluctant affection had softened the man that Bruce didn't even sigh.

Roy wouldn't ever admit it, but it was obvious he'd gotten a little fond of the kid during the long, _long_ week he was teaching him. Jason also would never admit it, because it wasn't true, but Roy had rebuked the little fucker had grown on him too.

Dick had marvelled that Damian hadn't stabbed him in the entire time. Tim had congratulated him on the progress, smile a little tight around the eyes, but his voice wasn't bitter. Jason still tackled him and dragged him to his apartment for a middle child movie night.

That being said, Tim argued it couldn't be a middle child movie night without Cass, but Jason figured he could only take one estranged sibling at a time.

Please _God_ , one sibling at a time.

It was on the back of his neck. Perhaps that was better. It was a scene he hurt to recognise, after all.

It wasn't a kind memory, the Arabian sunrise. It was sharp, jagged and real, filled with emotions he'd rather forget, and memories he dreads to recall. It was the harsh beat-down of the sun rays on his back, the burn of training like he'd never known before, and the relentless heat that stayed even after training was done. The Arabian sunrise meant no tapping out; the options were to improve, or die. It was Talia's sharp barks of commands, _harder, faster, better, kill_. It was never-ending anger, rage, the acidic glare of the pit in the corners of his eyes. It was having to start a new day, with the fresh wonder that maybe he'd have been better if he stayed dead. The constant danger of knowing he might be dead once more by the time the sun fell.

But it was also the softer of Talia's touches, as she woke him up from screaming nightmares, a comforting presence even if the care had never been real. It was feeling of the heat on his skin, knowing anything was better than the cold of his grave. It was the smug satisfaction of getting stronger, growing better, completing sets of training he hadn't been able to do when he woke. A steady confidence taking the place of his teenaged awkwardness. Under the Arabian sun, he could lose all feeling in a steady monotony of kicks and punches, and depend on the reliability of pain and fighting. There was some gratitude to it in knowing he wasn't the same. He'd never be the same again.

Maybe the memory wasn't kind, but it was still his. Happiness lurked in the sharpest edges- it wasn't nice, and it wasn't easy, but it was sharp with clarity in the ways his old memories before he died weren't, either dulled by age or fuzzed by the pit. It wasn't a kind joy, but it still belonged to him, and God knows Jason needed all the happiness he could get.

“Thank you.” Jason told Damian, who nodded in turn.

He surprised himself by meaning it.

Jason took back every good thing he'd ever said about Bruce. Clearly, the man despised him. What other reason could he have for placing him on a stakeout with Stephanie Brown, who was most definitely not his number one fan, and really didn't seem to like being stuck here on a rooftop with him either, to say the least.

After two hours, she broke the silence.

“You know, Tim keeps telling me I should try to be nicer to you.” She didn't look at him as she was speaking; in fact, she seemed rather grumpy that she was speaking to him in the first place. Like she had broken a promise to herself.

“Do you listen to Tim often?” He asked wryly. He had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“Rarely.” She admitted with a shrug. He expected that much. “But he's still my _best friend_.”

If she laid the emphasis on those words any thicker, she'd sound French.

“Well, he's my brother.” Jason shrugs, trying to make the word sound less bitter than it is.

“Do you make a habit of trying to murder your loved ones?” Stephanie snarks viciously. Ouch. Blonde's got bite.

“Evidence points to yes.” Jason is way too tired to deal with this. Stephanie snorts, and then frowns at him, as if she was angry that he made her laugh. “Look, I'm sorry if you wanna hold a grudge against me for it all. You're well entitled to. But I'm kinda just trying move on with my life.”

“Because that makes everything better.”

“I'm trying to keep them alive _now_ aren't I? I don't need your approval, blondie.” Jason spits.

Stephanie whips around, looking slightly enraged, before a loud crash emerges from the building they're watching. It's closely followed by the sound of shouts, and gunshots. The two meet eyes for a short second, her giving him an acidic glare, before they were simultaneously jumping down into the thick of the action.

Maybe Jason would forgive Bruce for sending him out on a stakeout this one time, if only because Jason managed to actually see some action. He'd been itching for a good fight for a while, violence like an itch under his skin that just won't settle on the darker nights.

They both headed back to the manor in silence.

Alas it seemed that once Stephanie had made initial contact, she couldn't leave well enough alone. He started to see her around the manor with a frequency he hadn't before. A little part of him was nervous about it; he couldn't stand being watched and monitored. But eventually, the blonde loses her patience with just watching.

They begin snipe at each other idly, insults getting more creative and more vulgar as time goes on. Turns out the girl really knows how to use a well placed metaphor, and she matches him pace by pace in terms of wit. She's quick and sharp, won't take any of his usual shit, and as this goes on for longer and longer, Dick, Tim and Damian all begin to look like they're regretting their life choices. Dick mumbles something about wishing he'd never had let them meet under his breath almost every time the ball starts rolling.

Eventually, it stops being mostly centred in antagonism, and it just starts being for fun.

Stephanie seems a little aggrandised that she actually likes him, but she deals with it well. She gets a lot of steam out with the sniping, and they when they have actual fights and their voices turn cold and calloused, they're usually not as vicious.

They're on the come down after one of said fights, a particularly nasty one that nearly got physical for a minute there before Jason caught himself on his anger and stormed out of the room. He heard her light footsteps a couple minutes later, after he'd cooled off. He's pretty sure he only heard her because she wanted him too.

“I don't know what I can do to make it up to you.” He snapped, mostly because you can't really make up for the things that Jason has done. He's well aware that some sins just don't leave you.

“You really wanna make it up to me?” She asked, with a mischievous edge to her voice that made Jason turn around.

Stephanie held a tattoo gun and a wicked grin.

“Oh my fucking god get away from me.” Jason was a feared vigilante killer and that was definitely _not_ fear in his voice. He didn't wanna know where she got that thing from, and he definitely did not want it anywhere near him.

“Ok hear me out-”

“ _No_ -”

“Jason!-”

“Have you even practised with that thing?”

“Well, _no_ , but-”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not!”

She rolled her eyes at him, as if he was being ridiculous, and not exhibiting signs of sanity for once. He continues to stare at her incredulously.

“I can do, like, a chilli dog or something.” She grins. “That sounds pretty simple.”

A c _hilli dog_.

He tries to convey how stupid he thinks that is via the sheer force of his glare. He's pretty sure it works, but either way Stephanie's remains unruffled. His glares would routinely make criminals shit themselves if he didn't wear his helmet, but apparently they remain ineffective on snarky teens.

“You have to be kidding.” He sighs. She's really not.

“I'm really not.” She says, grinning.

“You expect me to believe you'll stop being mad and grudgey with me if I let you put a permanent poorly drawn chilli dog somewhere on my body?”

She nods as if he wasn't being sarcastic. He hates this fucking family.

“Sure, why not. I've already lost control of my life.” He resigns himself, throwing his hands into the air as her smirk works itself into something wicked.

He is _convinced_ she picks to put it on his ribs because she knows it will hurt like a bleeding motherfucker. She argues to the contrary, but Jason sees the laughter in her eyes as she takes one last shot at him out of pure bitterness. She peace signs when he growls at her, and it only gets worse when she giggles.

“Maybe I just picked it so you'd have to take your shirt off.” She fake swoons, slightly hiding her mouth behind her hand because she can't keep her face straight. “I mean, man, what a view.”

She winks and gestures to his chest. Jason desperately wishes he was never resurrected.

“Aren't you meant to be my pseudo sister or something?” He asked helplessly. He knew she had dated Tim and everything, but he thought they were much more familial these days. At least, that was he impression he got.

She pouts. “You're no fun.”

“Correct.” He agrees. “Now let's get this over with.”

The chilli dog doesn't look _that_ bad, but it does look like something he got while possibly drunk. Drawn by someone who was also probably drunk. Looking at it, and knowing that is on his skin forever, gives him the idea that being drunk sounds like a really good idea right now.

“Ok!” She says, finishing it off. She knocks the website that was instructing her on how to do this off her phone. If Jason dies for a second time because this tattoo gets infected or something, he is going to be so fucking mad.

“Alright.” He says amiably. “Now fuck off.”

“Nah,” She grins wicked. “We still need to discuss payment. I deal in favours and also money.”

“Payment?” Jason was so, so tired. “The entire point was that if I let you do this you wouldn't be mad at me.”

“I stopped being mad at you ages ago, this was just emotional blackmail. You have tattoos for nearly everyone else in the family, after all. It was only fair.” She sounds smug, and for a second, Jason heavily debates falling back into his old bad habit of murder.

“That still has nothing to do with payment.”

“The blackmail was for getting a tattoo for me. I would've been fine if you got it from Roy or even heaven forbid, a professional.” She shrugs. “Instead, you came to me. And I expect payment for my excellent services.”

On the one hand, Jason is feeling an incandescent amount of rage at being played like that, but on the other hand, wow. Something like respect crops up in his chest. Fuck, Jason may actually like Stephanie as a person. That wasn't supposed to happen, he was just meant to like, grudgingly tolerate her or something.

“Ok then, a favour.” She seems shocked by his easy agreement, but what can he say. He's feeling generous. “Anything you want right now, or are you saving it for later?”

She ponders it for a second, before perking up with an idea. Well that doesn't bode well.

“Help me dye my hair?” Ok, he was expecting something much worse. That, he could do. Probably. He had the ability to google things, it would be fine. It probably can't go worse than her literally learning how to tattoo someone on the spot.

“What colour?” He asks out of curiosity.

She scoffed. “Like you even need to ask.”

“Well, ok, if you wanna look like a walking aubergine that's your business.”

“Damn right it is.” Fuck, he _does_ like her.

“Bruce is gonna kill you, yknow.”

“If he can handle you tattooing yourself like you're aiming for the Guinness world record, I think he can handle me having purple hair, which I not only usually hide under a hood, but _will blend into my suit._ ”

So they go buy hair dye.

They decide a full head of hair may actually drive Bruce into an early grave, but a couple of streaks would be easy enough to hide and wouldn't really hurt anyone. Stephanie suggests he could die the little strip of white at the front of his hair, and he tells her he'll consider it. She rolls her eyes and shoves the red hair dye he totally hadn't been eyeing into the basket.

“Just in case.” She says, not looking at him but still unbearably smug.

When they get back to Jason's apartment, he studies the instructions on the back of the dye for 5 minutes and figures he can do it. He let's Stephanie partition off the locks of hair she wants dying, since Jason probably would have just done it randomly and she actually wants this to look nice. Then, he begins the process.

The atmosphere is calm and casual. They chat idly, Stephanie sometimes managing to surprise a bark of laughter out of him, to which she always perks up with a razor sharp smirk. He can see little parts of Tim in her; the inquisitive way she cocks her head, his signature snarky eye roll, some elements of her turn of phrase and the odd sigh. It goes both ways though, and he can see where she left pieces of herself in Tim also. It's like Tim learnt how to grin for real from her, it's _uncanny_ , and some of the gestures he makes look a lot more at home in Stephanie's hands. It's easy to see they're best friends, still so close after everything.

He's going to just be _so_ glad when he finds out they're getting along. He mentions as much to Steph and she giggles maniacally.

They leave the dye to set in, and they gossiped for a while before Stephanie grabbed a set of nail polish from her back pack and told him to put a movie on. He randomly throws in one of the Fast and Furious movies and lets her have at his poor poor cuticles.

“Dead Robin's club!” She cheerfully held out her fist, careful not to smudge her (unsurprisingly purple) nail polish. Jason rolled his eyes. He'd really lost control of his life.

“Dead Robin's club.” He agreed only half as reluctantly as she expected, and bumped his fist against hers. She beamed a smile, and it screamed Robin. He didn't think he minded any more.

The next wayward sibling came during middle child movie night. Jason kind of had siblings falling out of his ass at this point.

Tim smiled at Cassandra as she gracefully climbed through his window. Which was funny, because she hadn't been invited and Tim was still the only sibling who knew where his actual apartment was. Dick, Damian and Steph each knew a smattering collection of safe houses, and could still contact him at pretty much any time, but Cass definitely shouldn't know this address. Unless Tim had invited her, but Jason was pretty sure he wouldn't do that without at least letting Jason know. Even so, he looks over to Tim, who shakes his head. It wasn't him.

Ah well. She was here, and she was arguably his sister, so she could stay.

“Hey.” He says, and casually waves at her like they've known each other their entire life. At her inquisitive glance, he shoves the popcorn in her direction. She stills a second, reading him like he's a book, but almost immediately untenses afterwards, with a small but genuine smile. Jason hadn't even noticed how tense she _was_ until she relaxed. She must have read _something_ in his body language, because she takes the popcorn and lounges back into his admittedly shitty sofa like she's a puddle, throwing her legs over Tim, who simply slings an arm around her shoulder.

Tim had mentioned he was especially close to Cassandra; they wrap into each other like puzzle pieces with similar affectionate smiles. They look like siblings. A brother and a sister. Jason awkwardly sits on the edge of his own damn sofa for all of ten seconds before Tim rolls his eyes.

“Get your ass over here, Jason.” He snarks, voice muffled a little by Cassandra's bright yellow jumper. Jason's tempted to throw a cushion at him, but he gets up and sits next to Tim all the same. Tim leans into his shoulder, and Cass shuffles her legs so that they lay across his lap as well as Tim's. Jason awkwardly puts an arm around Tim, who snorts at his hesitancy, and relaxes into his touch.

“Now it's a true middle child movie night.” Tim proclaims, somehow snuggling deeper into the couch. Cass signs something, which Jason misses because he hasn't learnt sign, and Tim gasps, nodding in response. Then her gaze slides over to him, stare penetrating in ways he hadn't expected, and the repeats the signs, this time speaking.

“Not true.” She smiles, slowing down the signs and enunciating her words clearly. “Need Duke.”

“The middle children are so forgotten, we even forget our own ranks.” Tim says sagely. “Ah well, he's at Isabella's tonight anyway. Maybe next time.” Jason snorts at that. The presumptuous brat is lucky he's getting a next time. Tim uses his position under Jason's arms to elbow him in the ribs.

“Just pick a movie Baby Bird.” Jason grouches. Little fuckers got elbows like razor blades.

“It's Cass's first MCMN.” Tim says the nerdy acronym as enunciated as possible, solely to annoy Jason. “She should pick.”

Tim doesn't have the decency to look even a little surprised when she picks Billy Elliot, to Jason's chagrin. He'd had a least a little hope when she'd deliberated between the movie in question and Pulp Fiction, but it seemed the dancer in her won out. He should have just taped Tim's mouth shut and put on Die Hard.

As they settle down into the warmth and the movie begins to play, an amalgamation of limbs that could rival a Lovecraftian horror, he supposes it's not the worst thing in the world.

After the initial meeting, Cass keeps popping up. Like a whack-a-mole, without the hitting. Except sometimes she's so quiet he doesn't notice her and jumps, and then there's _attempted_ hitting, but Jason's not even ashamed to say he probably couldn't land a hit on Cass. She is one whole bad ass.

She dances around his apartment while he cooks sometimes, soft classical music echoing from the speakers while she moves expertly around his furniture, seeming eternally graceful even in the weak lamp light. She compliments his cooking and ruffles his hair, insisting that she is the bigger sister, it's allowed. Jason's not completely 100% sure on that, actually, but he's not certain enough to correct her.

She meets in him town on random days when he's not really doing anything special. Drags him to different street vendors and fast food joints and makes sure he eats. While they do, she teaches him a little sign. She points to things and makes the gestures until Jason can repeat them seamlessly. It's clear she doesn't like talking all that much, but she puts the effort in so that she and Jason could communicate. Jason figures he should do the same.

He watches Youtube videos, steadily picking up more sign as he goes. Tim and Steph are the best at it out of their siblings, so they help him pick up as much as they can, until Jason knows enough that he can pick up the basics of what Cass is saying most of the time.

The first time they carry a full conversation in sign, she beams and hugs him close while he stiffens up. He knows that she's big on physical affection, but Jason really _isn't_. Usually she's very respectful of that, but she makes exceptions when she's too happy to not. Little by little though, he melts into the touch until he's hugging her back. She seems so tiny compared to him; the bulk of his frame dwarves her a little.

Big sister, she says. Sure, ok.

She teaches him the signs she's made for everyone's names. A lot of them are little asl puns, except Dick's, which is the sign for fly with three fingers rather than one, for the Flying Graysons.

He learnt how to sign sister first, and she signs back brother every time. It's easier, somehow, than admitting it out loud. It's their own secret ritual.

As time passes on they grow closer. She respects his boundaries, is endlessly patient and forces him to paint her nails. She likes the casual closeness of it more than any of the colours, Jason thinks. In return, he shares small forgotten pieces of himself with her. Old photos that are dotted around like gold dust, his old favourite sweets he hadn't touched in years. An old watch he was going to fix up and get working again for B, from before.

She likes the sound of his reading voice, but sometimes finds it a little too soporific and ends up falling asleep on him. She stays awake for the entirety of _Pride and Prejudice_ though, if nothing else because she sees how important it is to him. She seems to have a fondness for Virginia Woolf, despite the effort her work takes to read. He reads _The Waves_ to her twice, and she seems to love the vivid descriptions, and Woolf's take on the inside of the mind. It's not Jason's favourite, but he resolves himself to get his hands on a copy of _Orlando_ for her next.

He gets the motions of the sign 'sister' tattooed on his other wrist for her. He does seem to be going through the process of getting tattoo's for all the family after all. She loves it, and brushes the veins on his wrist where the pictures lie with two fingers each time they meet from then on. It's a new ritual, because Jason doesn't need to say she's his sister any more. Now, it goes without saying.

Like Jason, she knows how it is to be deadly, until it feels like it's all that you know. But the next time she comes to his apartment, this time, she drags him from the kitchen to dance with her while the food doesn't need watching. His sharpest edges seem to soften while she teaches him to waltz, and the familial intimacy of the closeness is the furthest thing from lethal he can imagine. It's the opposite even. They dance, bathed in the peach light of the sun setting, and it feels like living, again, for the first time.

Jason gets why everyone says Cass is the family favourite.

“So,” Barbara says bemused into his comm line. “I hear you're making your way through the family and I want to know when my turn is going to be.”

Jason groans, and she laughs.

“I have no idea what I could get that would sum up my love for you Babs.” He deadpans, and he hears Dick chortling in his ear.

“Chatter.” Batman chastises, but no one on this team listens to Batman.

“What are you, a cop?” Jason mutters under his breath, and it's Tim who laughs this time.

“Have you seen those circuitry tattoo's people get?” Tim muses. “They look cool as fuck.”

“Tattoos are against the rules.” Batman says, but it's in vain. He's fighting a losing battle. The man already lost Tim and he doesn't even know it; Jason absolutely cannot wait until B finds out Tim has a tattoo. Or maybe not, actually. If the man recognises the meaning behind it, that'll be one sombre conversation. Jason's tried convincing the kid to get a less sad, more obnoxious one, to inspire a funnier reaction, but no dice just yet.

“Tim is a smart boy Jason.” Barbara says, completely ignoring Batman and successfully snapping Jason's attention back to the present. She sounds completely and utterly entertained. “I won't accept a lame looking tattoo, you know.”

“Oh, I would never besmirch your good name like that.” Jason mockingly reassures her.

There's a sigh as Bruce completely gives up on corralling his children. It's a toss up whether it's about that time of the night already or if they're just being extra annoying today.

Babs was mostly joking, but it does get Jason thinking about what kind of tattoo he can get for her.

Tim might have been on the right track with that circuity thing, but back when Jason was alive, Babs was never defined by computers. She was definitely skilled at them, her talent growing leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of the Bat's as she grew and practised. But Jason always knew her as the kick ass Batgirl who helped tutor him and kept Dick in line. She was a kick ass oracle too, and Jason respected her a whole lot, but Jason couldn't help but think of her as the quick and punchy personality she'd been during his childhood.

He hadn't even realised he'd never let go of that.

Barbara had obviously moved on from her Batgirl days now. If Jason got a tattoo of her that represented who she was then, then he was shafting the person who she'd fought ferociously to become. That wasn't right; he couldn't do that. She was still the same at her core, but she was different too. He loved her dearly, after all this time.

He still couldn't get just a boring old piece of circuitry though. At the end of the day, she had so much more personality than that, it couldn't hope to fit on his skin.

So he gets a crystal ball; a little play on oracle, and Roy does his best to add some artistically tasteful circuit lines coming off of it. It looks pretty good, all in all, even if Damian does sniff at it and proclaim that Jason should have let him do it. It sits nicely on the back of his calf.

'Nice :)' She texts him. He's glad she approves.

He's a little scared of what she would have done if she hadn't. It probably involved lasers and the Birds of Prey. Best not to wonder.

Duke was the only sane motherfucker in this entire family, and Jason kind of respected that, even if he didn't think it would last.

Duke was becoming more and more like them everyday as he became resigned to their little idiosyncrasies. He was even beginning to pick some of them up; his bat glare was coming alone quite nicely. Stephanie may have been doing something distinctly Pavlovian including Bruce's approving grunts and candy, to help him to be able to tell when Bruce was praising him. Jason thinks Duke just assumes she's being nice. That won't last.

Tim and Cass seem to be his go to siblings for any issues, middle child solidarity and all that jazz. And surprisingly enough, Jason is included in this when he's around. Duke knows he's the fighter, so he asks Jason for tips on his form. Jason likes the kid, so he shows Duke how to pack a little extra behind his punches without sacrificing his knuckles too. He can't pick up a reputation for being nice, though, so he trips the kid up until he learns he learns how to centre his gravity through sheer trial by fire.

“You're the worst.” He moans from the floor.

“I am.” Jason agrees, standing above him.

Jason and Duke seem to have a special kind of solidarity in that they grew up in Crime Alley and the Narrows, respectively. There's a way of living in them that the others just can't relate to. Duke picks up a nickname from Jason almost immediately in the form of 'Narrows', and Duke returns the sentiment in the form of 'asshole'; Crime Alley just doesn't role off the tongue quite as well, Jason figures. That must be it. The both of them seem to have committed themselves to a fun little insincere rivalry on the subject.

Like a lot of Jason's siblings, Duke doesn't actually live in the manor. Though instead of it stemming from a misplaced sense of independence from being left alone too much as a child like Tim or being a wayward like Jason, it's because he actually has a cousin to take care of him. One that doesn't know his identity.

There's an all hands on deck mission down in Gateway, and all the Bats have been asked to make an appearance as fast as they fucking can. Problem is, Duke isn't answering his phone, and no one knows why. And they could kind of use the Signal, because he's not only an invaluable member of the team, but also because apparently they were going to have to deal with some kind of shadow monster and the kids got light powers. So.

“I'll go get him.” Jason volunteers with a shrug. Bruce is too busy trying to get everything in order to argue, and Dick waves him off, telling him to hurry. They're usually more organised by this, but some of the gangs have been making some distracting and tiring movements lately and they're a little all over the place because of it. Tim looks like he hasn't slept for days at least, and Dick doesn't look much better. Even Damian looks like he's been ran ragged.

So he hops on his motorcycle down to Duke's place, picking up an extra helmet for the kid (yellow, because they're a family with an aesthetic and they stick to it) and high tailing it down there. He would probably have broken a few traffic laws if this wasn't Gotham; but it is Gotham, and there are no traffic laws. Well, Jason reasons as he brutally cuts off a pensioner, no traffic laws that matter, anyway. He takes every short cut he knows, resulting in a very convoluted route but he does make it to the house in record time.

It's only when Duke's cousin Jay opens the door rather than Duke that Jason realises that despite his excellent road safety, he may not have been the person for this job.

“Hi.” He says, trying not to sound like he's been caught out, like he definitely has been. “Is Duke in? He's not answering his phone.”

“He's grounded.” Jay frowns. “And you are?”

“A friend of his.” Jason smiles, trying to telepathically convince the man that that was a real answer. “I wouldn't ask otherwise, but this is kind of an emergency. Can I please speak to him?”

“A friend?” A sceptic. Great.

“He's like a brother to me.” And, well, that's not really a lie, is it? On accounts that he is by all intents and purposes, Jason's brother. “Look man, like I said, emergency. Time sensitive. Is he here?”

“I don't-” Jay begins to say, frown even more pronounced on his face, when he's interrupted by a voice behind him.

“Jason?” Duke asks from behind his cousin. Jason waves.

“Hi Duke. We've got a little bit of a situation. Urgent. Think you can get away?” Jason smiles tightly. Realisation comes over Duke's face and he gives his cousin a pained glance.

“I'm grounded.” He faux protests, but it's pretty clear he's only putting on a show for his cousin. He sighs, all put out like. “Can you give me five minutes?”

Jason steps back and his cousin slams the door. 6 minutes and 37 seconds later, Duke runs out of the house with a call of “Let's go!” and a smile.

His leather jacket has a bunch of meta-rights and anti-meta registration patches sewn on, and Jason kind of wanted some. Stick it to the man, Duke. You go. There were some Batman badges on it too though. Go figure. That sucked, but you can't win 'em all.

“You're late, Narrows. Have too much trouble with him?” Jason needles him as he gets on the bike. Duke doesn't hesitate before sitting behind him and wrapping his arms around Jason.

“Shut up, asshole.” Duke gripes, but there's laughter in his voice. “I'm here aren't I?”

“Put your helmet on, kiddie.” Jason says in lieu of answering the question. He really does hope Duke didn't have too much trouble with Jay, but he'd never admit like, actual concern unless he was dying.

They speed off towards the manor. They've got ass to kick.

Jason knows Duke worries about whether he has a place in the family, and there's no need for it. So Jason resolves that this will probably help.

It's a stylistic Gotham skyline drawn continuously down Jason's forearm with one line, with a simple sun behind it. Duke is Gotham's protecting light in the daytime, after all. So, it fits. Kid's good at it too; a lot of the Bats would struggle a little without the cover of darkness. But Duke shines strong and resolute, creating stronger shadows for the rest of them.

“I love it.” Duke says when Jason shows him, a little reverent. At the next 'family dinner' (ugh), Duke sits next to him and maybe Jason is imagining it, but he looks just a little more at home with his place. It's quite content, even though Duke teases him relentlessly and Cass keeps signing 'sappy' at him when Bruce isn't looking. Bruce is looking when he sticks his middle finger up at her though, so Jason makes sure to aim it at him for good measure too. It's been a while since Bruce has looked that fond at his antics, since his antics began to consist of vigilante murder.

Jason struggles with shit like this, but he can't help but think it's nice.

Jason is spending a lot more time around the manor these days, and he's pretty sure it's a good thing.

He still won't admit the stupid Bat on his heart means anything though, no matter what his siblings think. And _no_ , this is not the end of his _rebellious phase_ \- it wasn't a rebellious phase to begin with, so how could it be? Idiots, the lot of them.

(Jason didn't notice when he stopped hesitating before calling them family. When it stopped being some sarcastic joke.)

(The others did; after all, some people wear their heart on their sleeve. Jason wears his heart on his skin.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: please i am begging you; do not follow Stephanie's example. I love her, but that was a very bad idea. I figure since they're vigilantes they have a very warped idea of danger so they're good with stuff like this, but you should absolutely not follow the lead of these chaotic dumbasses.  
> also i dont know asl, because i'm not american so, if anything is wrong with my portrayal of asl, please let me know!
> 
> you can find me at:  
> Tumblr: ace-corvid.tumblr.com  
> Twitter: twitter.com/ace_corvid  
> come yell at me!
> 
> thank you so much for reading, see you next time! And if you enjoyed this, a comment would really make my day!

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! i hope you liked that! if you did, you can kudos, comment, and if you'd like, check out some of my other stuff
> 
> also don't worry, Damian isn't being left out, nor are Cass, Duke, Babs or Stephanie- i have a sequel planned, hopefully for Febuary! if you have any ideas for what tattoos Jason may have for them, PLEASE let me know!! bc i'm,,, stuck
> 
> you can find me at:  
> Tumblr: ace-corvid.tumblr.com  
> Twitter: twitter.com/ace_corvid  
> come yell at me!
> 
> thank you so much for reading, see you next time!


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